


The First Blight: A Story of All Origins

by bagumbo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Everyone's a bastard, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, oc character names are silly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:23:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 16,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagumbo/pseuds/bagumbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first blight brought nightmares to life and spread an incurable taint upon mankind. The story of the Grey Wardens facing off the blighted lands of Ferelden, a small blip in the vastness that was the Tevinter Imperium, would be made legend. But the tales old tend to forget the less presentable details.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rocky Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> The Origins of the characters (all seven options) has been changed to fit the story. For example Mahariel will not be Dalish since in this time period the Dalish would not have been called this (or exist?). Surana and Tabris will also be slaves, considering most all elves were. Mages are large and in charge and looky here no Chantry in sight!

It had been two years since the beginning of the end had plagued the world. Few places in Thedas remained untouched by the blight, tainted creatures roaming the land. Living nightmares themselves, the darkspawn hordes killed by the thousands. No one knew where they came from. No one knew what to do. You could kill one or two but most often a man would be struck down or worse succumb to the taint. The Tevinter Imperium was slowly crumbling, the massive empire’s power waning from the impending doom plaguing the minds of all.

 But the worries of the surface were never really Brosca’s thing. No down here under all the stone a dwarf could wish for, Rocky Brosca spent her life fighting for scraps, busting heads for the Beraht, doing his dirty work when it needed to be done. No she spent her life fighting so her loving sister Rica, oh so beautiful Rica, didn’t have to whore herself out. No she spent her life avoiding the bottle when Rica took up the ancient trade, refusing to be what her mother had always been. The brand that had been burned into her skin was met with ink made in a pattern only a dwarf could do; all blocky squares and sharp angles. It was painful but so was the brand and at least in this mark she had a _choice._ And now a new choice presented itself to her.

The doors to the surface was open, just as the one to the deeproads was too, despite the dwarf’s best efforts to close the large gates. Darkspawn were crawling all over the place. The dwarves were dying. Blood ran red and black against the stone, Dust Town was on fire and her mother lay dead at her feet, throat slit, and blood gurgling out from the last remaining heartbeats. Rocky Brosca had two options, fight and die here in the dirt or find Rica and flee to the surface like her father had once done. Living was her preference but where the fuck was Rica?

Running through the chaos, a dull dagger in each hand, raw and rough strips of leather clinging and chaffing her body she found herself near the entrance to the diamond quarter. Rica spent most her time there, for the red haired beauty had caught the eye of many men and there was a good corner to hide in and rut. Bile crept up her throat at the thought of what she might find. But there she was, Rica, beautiful sweet Rica, running towards her covered in lace. A smile on her face when she spotted her, running from the terror. Then the smile was gone. The entire head too. Rocky’s sister’s corpse fell and nothing about it was beautiful or sweet. Her head bounced away and was squashed by the many feet of darkspawn trampling anything in their path. The vision of a tall figure, skin pasty white with black splotched, holding a sword that looked as if made by desperate dusters grinning at her with sharp teeth. And just like that her reason for living was gone. No more Rica. The light of her life the one she had worked so hard for gone. If she had been thinking she would have fought the beast, either to triumph in a brief revenge or be beheaded like her sister. But a real duster, a strong one, survived whether they liked it or not. And so she ran. She ran and ran and ran until she was in the dark and ran some more, body cold from the draft the outdoors had to offer. The surface. She was knee deep in something cold and her bare legs burned against it. But she ran.

And she never looked back.


	2. A Chained Wolf

Wolfgang Surana knew when to hold his tongue. He had it engrained in him since he could remember, countless beatings keeping him quiet. But he never knew when to speak. And moments he knew he needed to he couldn’t. His tongue would grow thick, his throat dry and even if he opened his mouth the best he would likely get a strangled cry.

So standing in his nothing but his smallclothes, on a platform, waiting to be sold off to a new master he couldn’t help but curse his tongue. Because surely had he spoken up he could have soothed his master when he was caught in an attempt to escape. Well, not his escape. Jowan, his friend, the closest thing to a brother he’d ever had, was running off with their master’s daughter. They were fools to trust Lilly. The cow got cold feet and ratted them out, even went through the whole plan just to get them dug deeper in shit. Then Jowan cut his hand and blood filled Wolfgang’s vision.

Blood magic. A common tactic but for a slave to know it, to hold such power in his blood. Well, he was left with the mess. Jowan gone, the whore crying and he stood there, trying not to piss his robe.

A name familiar to him yet now his own rang out. Lies were being told, how he had defeated many men, strong, powerful. Like the audience would see him for anything but the stick he was. And yet there were bids, not many but a few.

He was sold for twenty silver. When his former master bought him he had been ten sovereigns. It stung a bit but he slunk to where the other slaves awaited their fate, watched the others be paraded as he had.

He had expected to be met with either silks and sating or harsh leather and grime. His new owner however was clad in metal, dark skin and darker hair making him think Rivainni. He bowed, as he did the last time, oh so many years ago. What was he to be now? Slaves who could wield magic were most always the favored of the lot but a runaway? He should be dead, not naked under the eyes of a stranger as Jowan ran free.

“My name is Duncan. You are Snap Dragon?” Wolfgang nodded, because that was what they slavers named him. But to himself quietly he clung to name they could never take from him, _Surana._ “An odd name if I might say.” There was a pause. “Do you speak?” He shook his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And with that he followed his new master into a world that was cruel. No more soft silks and satins, a spoiled elven pet. Only the unknown.


	3. Beast

Elsey Tabris remembered her mother very well. She remembered the fire in her spirit and how it had been snuffed out by a dirty shem’s club. Elsey stood naked now on the slavers platform, not even a rag to cover herself. Yet she stood tall and smiled with pride. She had killed her master’s son. Not only him but all the guards and all the bastard’s friends.

_That’s what you get for messing with a Tabris._

She had saved her cousin from the pig, cut the bastards down like the dogs they were for killing her lover and would have fought tooth and nail to kill any other shem who would stand in her way. Then a knock to the head sent her in the dark until she found herself chained like an animal. Well no longer a timid rabbit anyway. No she was a beast to be reckoned with. The only regret she felt was her lack of knowing her cousins’ fate. Otherwise fuck shems.

The bidding was starting now but word must have spread because no one was calling out. She’d be killed if she didn’t sell. Well no that’s not true, she would be brought out to be the slavers’ whore. Then she would kill them all until someone finally defeated her. She would not let her fire be snuffed out easily.

A single call rang out. One silver.

_Okay now I’m pissed._

Elsey Tabris snarled at her new ‘Master’ a man clad in metal with an all too innocent expression.

“My name is Duncan.” He started.

“Bite me!” She spat at him but he was much taller than she and it hit his breast plate. She growled when he procured a dagger. She was caught off guard when he used it to unbind her.

“Come with me.” It was a command and Tabris never followed commands. But she happened to be going the same direction so might as well follow along…


	4. What a Punk

Punk Amell was helped to gently mount her stead, robe bunching up uncomfortably. She would rather a carriage or perhaps a paladin but no her father rejected both those ideas. At least she was to have an entourage escorting her to the south. Magister Amell provided the best for his favored daughter after all. Her sister Lilly waved her goodbyes and smiled as if they weren’t feuding. The girl had been caught fraternizing with a slave so she was clawing for any leverage to climb back into their father’s favor. She smiled back knowing she would always be above her. Her brother showed himself and he waved as well, a formal crisp thing and just the barest hint of a smile.

Punk would never have gotten a place in the Magisterium, if only because her brother was superior to her. He was older, stronger, more skillful in magic, and had enough ambition to lead the entire Imperium if pressed. She respected him, admired him even, and she preened at the attention. She used her one good eye to sweep over the courtyard. She would be joining an order to stop the horrors of this land. She would bring glory to house Amell in her own way. Her smile grew.

No one could say Punk Amell was not ambitious.

She would stop further south, join the king’s bastard’s bastard. The bastard prince of the Imperium had been given regency over this ‘Ferelden’ and his bastard son would be joining the order too. To think she’d be fighting side by side with royalty no matter how distant. She would charm this Alistair, perhaps even beyond comradery. After all he may become a regent himself.

And she could pull the strings.

She motioned for her entourage she begin their march. She would be a Grey Warden, fight the blight and be remembered in tales of old. This would be intriguing.


	5. Between a Rock and A Hard Place

  _Ancestors preserve us._

A prayer on her lips to the paragons of old, axe clutched in her hands, large and deadly. She swing and a darkspawn went down but three more came forward. She did a wide sweep and they were gone but now six crowded round her. Malachite Aeducan could barely keep up but she fought. She dug into the deepest part of her being, called to the stone for strength. Her father, the ever so brave king, bashed his shield against a wicked thing, long and black and shrieking. He spotted her, and made a path to where she fought. Together they cleared the darkspawn, and for a brief moment there was calm.

“Daughter.” King Endrin, mighty warrior and leader of Orzammar’s people, fell to his knees.

“Father!” Malachite flung her axe away to support him but he shook his head.

“Daughter go to the surface.” Malachite blinked.

“No.”

“Do you disobey your father?” He snapped. Blood trickled from his mouth now and he stood shakily. “Go to the surface.” He removed his ring, the symbol of his rule. “Take this and run.”

“I will not be a coward father. I shall fight and if I must-“

“Don’t be a fool! I will not have all my children die here today!” Malachite bit her tongue. Her brother Trian had been slayed not so long ago, a dagger in the back. These creatures were evil. “Please daughter, by the ancestors go.” Malachite hesitated, before kissing her father’s forehead. She grabbed her axe and plowed through the masses. When she looked back, for just one last glimpse, she was smacked by a maul. She was flung away and hit the stone of the building. She gasped at the pain, but found that yes she was alive, yes her axe was in her hands and yes she had the strength to fight. But that battle would have to be another day.

She joined the masses fleeing to the surface, cowards and casteless trash scrambling to survive. She hated that she was joining them, hated leaving her home. But her father wished this of her. And by the stone she would honor him as best she could.

_Ancestors save us._


	6. Whimpering Pup

Lavender Cousland had a habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve. So as she packed her things for the long journey, tears fell freely from her eyes. As if the ocean was seeping away from its’ orbs only to land on clothing, rations, her pale hands. Her brother had pleaded with her, don’t go he said. But what was she to do otherwise? Sit on her hands until the darkspawn catch up to them as well. No Fergus could hold down the fort. It would have torn her mother up to have her daughter in the midst of such a terrible battle. Father too.

Her heart twisted. She huffed out a laugh.

“Look at your pup now papa.” She whispered. When she was done she sat upon the bed she had occupied for the last twenty years. She scratched at the mark in the bedpost from when Fergus had slammed her head into it (lovingly). She lost her first tooth then. She also got to watch Fergus get a spanking which was quite fun for a giggling little girl.

“What are you laughing about?” She looked and found Fergus in the doorway. His smile was strained and his face betrayed how tired he really was.

“You.” His smile dropped only slightly. “Remember when we were kids, how we would wrestle all the time?”

“I remember a little brat throwing cheap punches at her big brother if that’s what you mean.”

“You punched back.”

“Only when you aimed for the jewels.” They laughed before a comfortable silence fell on them. It grew cold quickly however and she heard distantly another plea to stay.

“I am needed elsewhere.”

“No you’re needed here.”

“I have made up my mind.”

“Is this what father would have wanted? His little pup to march off foolishly into a mass of darkspawn.” Tears sprung into her eyes again but she swallowed the wail in her throat.

“Enough!” She cried. She whistled for her mabari, only to remember the taint had taken him too. She cursed to herself. Her brother wasn’t seeing a strong warrior she was but a blubbering baby too young to face the greatest evil the world had ever seen. She took deep breathes, composed herself, then hugged her brother goodbye.

“I won’t say to be careful, but please do live.” He said, voice thick with emotion.

“I will.”

And she meant it.


	7. Da'len

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have gotten carried away

The shemlin had pretended to be dead. The elf jerked the thing’s head up and slit its throat. The blood bubbled out of it, body contorting, weak hand grasping at a hairy neck. Theodosia Mahariel watched it die, and when the thing was finally a corpse she stripped him. His clothes were dirty and worn but could be usable she surmised. The shoes were leather, a plus since her clan had been running short. He had a pouch of silver. Perhaps it could be used as a decoration of some sort? Heated and forged to make silver tipped arrows? She took it. The thing lay naked in the dirt, as did the other shemlin that had mistakenly camped to close to her clan. She had been hunting for wolfs, winter was coming after all. But the prey she had found had given her a good haul of useful items. The tent and crates too large for her to carry alone could be scavenged later. She adjusted her bag and went to collecting arrows she’d fired earlier.

The sound of crying met her ears, and they flicked with the intrusion to her peace. She scowled and followed the noise to a tent farther away. She tossed the flap open only to meet a startled yelp and a hastily thrown shoe. She jerked her head back and the shoe, a small sandal, hit her chest. It had been a weak throw. She peered in again and saw a pair of frightened eyes. A child and it held a babe only a few seasons old as well. The thing was elvhan but the thing in her arm was clearly a shemlin. She frowned in contemplation. Her nose caught the smell of urine and the thing was crying again. She could take the child with her, but what of the babe? Perhaps they could raise it, have it do some good, leave it untainted by its ancestors.  She smiled sweetly to the girl. She’d leave the thing to the keeper, but the girl would be a welcome addition to their family. She had not spoken the common tongue in a long time but she doubted the girl understood their native language.

“Come here Da’len, no harm will come to you.” The girl was trembling.

“You killed them.” She whispered, a nasally noise that grated the nerves.

“If you come with me no shem- humans will hurt you again.” The girl looked from her to the thing in her arms. The squirming worm had a beat red face from all the crying. “I will take it as well if you want.” The girl seemed reluctant but after a moment held the thing in shaky arms out to Mahariel.

_Oh._

She took it and stepped back, holding the thing on her hip, stopping her urge to drop it on its head. Such actions would scare the girl. The girl crawled out, standing at waist height to the hunter and looked at the thing at her hip, then into her face.

“Don’t hurt my brother.” Mahariel raised an eyebrow.

“Brother? He has the blood of the elvhan?”

“He came from my mommy. She died.” Mahariel nodded. Perhaps the thing on her hip had more potential than she first thought.

“Come Da’len it’s time to move on. You must be hungry. I am sure we can find you some food at camp.”

“What does Da’len mean?” Mahariel smiled. Already curious of her ancestors ways.

“Little child.” The girl puffed out her cheeks.

“I’m not little!” Mahariel laughed and held out a hand for the girl to take. The girl looked at the hand, then the corpses, then the hand again. Mahariel smile grew.

The three made it to camp quickly- truly the shemlin had been foolish to get so close- She made a beeline to her keeper, whom was currently speaking with their halla keeper. She waited patiently and when the woman came to her she kept her face neutral.

“Andaran atish’an keeper. I have returned.”

“I see. And instead of furs I see two new comers.” The woman responded, frowning slightly.

“There were shemlin-“

“I was aware of them. You should not have faced them alone.”

“Ir abelas keeper.”

“And you bring a shemlin into our vhen’an now.” She gestured to the thing at her hip. “I am surprised at you.”

“Ir abelas keeper but he has the blood of the elvhan in him.” The keeper hummed slightly.

“Do not apologize. I was simply surprised to see you show mercy. Vir Adahl’en. ” Mahariel did not know how to respond to that so she held her tongue as the woman took the thing. She cradled it and the thing kicked its feet. Her keeper smiled. “In times like these we must be merciful when possible.” She looked to the girl now, who was peeking out from behind the hunter. And who are you Da’len?”

“Ann”

“Ann, I am Marethari. I am keeper of this clan. This is Theodosia though she prefers Mahariel.”

“Marethari.” She repeated. “Ma ha rel?”

“Mahariel.”

“Mahariel.” She managed after a moment.

“Where were you off to Da’len?”

“Ostagar. They need workers to help the soldiers fighting the Blight.”

“The Banalhan huh?” The keeper said as if the child was not speaking of the taint plaguing the world. “See those children over there? Go introduce yourself.” The girl hesitated but Marethari had used her Keeper ™ voice so she obeyed.

“Mahariel.”

“Yes keeper.”

“You will be going to Ostagar.” Mahariel tensed. “A shemlin came to me looking for recruits to his order. I have decided that the recruit will be you.”

“Keeper they will surely kill me on sight.”

“No. Go to our last camping place and Duncan will be waiting for you.”

“Tamlen-“

“Is needed here.”

“And I’m not needed?!” She hushed herself.

“If no one faces the Banalhan we are doomed.  Falon’Din will carry his people over the veil but do you wish the end of our people?”

“Of course not!” Mahariel sighed. “I will go keeper. Tell Tamlen he has been a good falon and…. Goodbye.” She could not face him and she was not so cruel as to leave him with confessions.

_Creators guide me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andaran atish’an: formal greeting  
> Banalhan: the blight  
> Falon’Din: Elven god of the dead  
> Ir abelas: I'm sorry  
> vhen’an: home  
> Translations gathered from http://archiveofourown.org/works/359253/chapters/582281


	8. Sure, why not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surfacers are weird

Brosca was surprised to be alive. She thought for sure if the darkspawn didn’t kill her the surface would. The elements were harsh and she was ill prepared, unguided. She nearly shit herself when she saw some creature jump into the sky and stay there and sod it all that was a fucking high ceiling. Her toes hurt from clenching to the ground so much. How had her father done this?

She managed to kill things and eat things that didn’t kill her and drank from streams that were certainly cleaner than Dust Town’s water holes. And it was by happen chance she found herself attacked by bandits. They had better armor, better weapons, and towered over the dwarf.

As she rifled through their belongings she cursed at how everything was so large. She had lucked out on scavenging an old worn pair of boots of one of the beings, humans right? She had seen one once in the Tavern. Huge bastard got taken down by a single pint of ale. A clearing of the throat roused her from the memory to the now, wheeling round, and daggers ready. Another human, heavily armored, and some… smaller beings stood a few yards away. Sod it how did she miss them? She let a growl rip out of her throat. One of the smaller beings growled back, teeth bared at her. The smaller one’s ears were big and pointy, and they all had tattoos like she did. She wondered if they had brands too.

“I see you can fight.” The human spoke.

“Yeah and you’ll be gutted like a squealing nug if you step any closer!” The human took a deliberate step closer. Brosca grinned and sprinted towards him. She watched him unsheathe daggers of his own. She was almost in reach when she was forced back by some invisible force. She stumbled but kept on her feet again and stared. The space between them was squiggly and moving and blue?

_The fuck?_

“Snap Dragon that was unnecessary.” The red headed one nodded and with a flick of the wrist the space was clear again.

“The fuck?”

“Are you from Orzammar?” The human asked politely, daggers still gripped in his hands.

“Who’s asking?” She eyed him. She might have been able to take him down fine but if the red head did that weird thing again odds were not in her favor.

“Duncan, of the Grey Wardens.”

“Rocky. Rocky Brosca, and yeah what about it.”

“How is it there?”

“Crawling with darkspawn.”

“I see. That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to come with us?” Brosca barked out a laugh before she could stop herself. She eyed the others and found a mix of different displeasures there. She thought for a moment. The longer she thought though the better it sounded. Having a merry group of surfacers show her the ropes. They’d probably want her to bash a few heads but she wasn’t a stranger to dirty work. And without Rica…

“Sure why not? Where we headed?” She asked as if she knew anything about the surface.

“Ostagar. To fight the darkspawn.” They were on the surface?

_Shit._

“Okay.” She answered instead of all the curses she wanted to spill out. Better to be with strange surfacers than face those nightmares alone. And she’d have to face them apparently.

_Fuck the surface._

“That’s it? Just okay?” Brosca looked at the being that talked. Woman, shorter than the human but taller than the other two beings, dark skin, dark hair, weird swirls on her face. Big ass eyes. In fact all the beings’ eyes were big. Weird.

“Yeah.” The woman looked incredulous.

“We don’t even know what you are?”

“Same goes to you.” The woman bristled at that.

“We are of the elvhan.” She looked as if she would say more but stayed silent. As if that should mean something.

“And I am a dwarf. Lived under a big rock in case you were wondering.”

“Little people live under rocks?”

“And tall people don’t?”

“I think we should deal with our new company.” Duncan began, his stance stood guarded, and he looked farther behind Brosca. She turned and saw them, darkspawn ugly as a Duster’s ass.


	9. The Second Child

When Malachite Aeducan saw another dwarf she was over joyed. Once on the surface the cowards had all scattered and she had been left alone with nothing but her armor and her axe. She thanked the ancestors for having left Orzammar with protection, because even on the surface there were darkspawn. And now seeing another dwarf fight against them she couldn’t stop herself from joining. She gave a roar and ran towards a tall darkspawn and sliced him in half. His upper body slid off and his legs went limp and plopped onto the snow. She avoided hitting creatures that weren’t darkspawn, tall as they were they didn’t have the taint. There were not many but her armor was dripping with blackish blood none the less.

Catching her breathe the noble took a good long look at the people she helped. One was human, the others were hairless and human like, and the dwarf-

_A brand._

Of course she’d been fighting by a brand. Her skin crawled at the taboo she committed. But it was too late now and now the brand was grinning at her, blood in her teeth and eyes wild. She kept her expression cool and distant.  She’d dealt with brands before, when they would try to sneak out of her brother’s room unnoticed. Some were begrudgingly beautiful beyond the brand. This one was not.

“Thanks for joining in there.” The brand was saying though the grin was dimming.

“Yes well perhaps I shouldn’t have.” The brand rolled her eyes then, but kept the smile on, licking the blood off and spitting at Aeducan’s feet. She didn’t flinch.

“We’re the same here you know? Surfacers.” The brand said the word slowly and Aeducan felt anger flare within her.

“You fought well. Are you a warrior from Orzammar?” The human cut in. Aeducan reigned her anger in and met with the human with all the politeness she’d learned from interacting with his kind. Which was not often, but royalty from the surface came every few years, though their reasons varied. She noted that this human was likely a warrior himself, since he wore armor.

“I am from Orzammar. The second child to the king.” She corrected. The human made a small bow.

“Then it is a pleasure my lady. I assume you are here because of the darkspawn.” Aeducan looked at the brand, whom probably blabbed about Orzammar’s problem. She scowled.

“Yes.”

“Well we are currently in search of people whom are skilled to fight against the darkspawn here on the surface.”

“So you take in brands?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.

“We take anyone with the skill and the will, barbarians and kings, dwarves, humans, elves, mages and warriors.”

“Well I can see the barbarian part.” She paused. “You should have a real dwarf represent my people in your quest. I will come.” The human laughed.

“Not many ask to join but we would be glad.”

“Just don’t make me share a tent with the brand.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it Mali.”

“My name is Malachite Aeducan and you will address me as my lady or your highness, brand.”

“Sure Mali whatever you say. Name’s Rocky Brosca. Not Brand.” Aeducan scoffed but she felt a bit of a thrill. She’d be able to fight against those whom invaded her home. She may die on the surface and that within itself is a disgrace, but she will be doing her father proud. She told herself this anyway as she followed behind the human and his strange companions.

_I will bring you honor father. I swear it to the stone._

 


	10. Excuse Me Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Punk Amell is in for a rude awakening

He was quite young the prince, barely an adult. Alistair Therein was not what Punk Amell expected. He was polite enough, had clearly been educated to be polite to his betters. But alone on the road just them and their entourage he often tried to converse with their lesser. The slaves even! He would stop soon enough seeing as they were all uncomfortable with his actions and their conversations were descent enough. He though himself to be a jokester and yes she could see him as being the court’s fool. She laughed and smiled though, batted her eyelashes. The man was insufferably blind in her attentions however.

When they finally arrived at Ostagar, the towers of purely Tevine design took her breath away. She marveled at their surroundings, because though they were in a province she had soon found to be filled with barbaric like people, she almost felt at home here. If only it wasn’t so cold.

“Seems we’ve arrived.” She mused, looking at her companion. He wasn’t listening though, looking as if he were trying to find someone. They came further into camp and she was overwhelmed slightly by the bustling that was an army camp. A woman came up to themas they dismounted and gave a slight bow.

“Greetings Altus Amell, your highness, allow me to introduce myself. I am Lavender Cousland, of Highever.”

“Greetings cousin.” Alistair said with a smile. Amell had never heard of the Couslands but she smiled none the less. She was less likely competition to her since she and the prince were related.

“Greetings my lady.”

“I believe the three of us are to become grey wardens, unless I’m mistaken.” The woman suddenly seemed anxious at the concept of being wrong.

“No that’s why we’re here. Say I don’t suppose you’ve met a man named Duncan.”

“My apologies your highness I have not.”

“Please call me Alistair, no need for formality between brothers in arms. Err I mean siblings in arms? Yeah.” He looked around again. “Excuse me ladies I’m going to go look for Duncan.”

Amell knew that Duncan was the recruiter for the grey wardens, and how he had personally come to the king to conscript his son. She also knew the Alistair admired the man so she overlooked the lack of house name. Perhaps he’s from a disgraced house, or from one like Cousland’s, never heard of outside of their province.

She was aware now that said Cousland was looking to her now, her stance awkward and unsure. She gave a polite smile.

“We should find our tents perhaps?”

“Oh! I can lead the way. The grey wardens and recruits are in a secluded area.” The Cousland smiled.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” She observed Lavender as they walked through the camp. She was of average height and her brown hair was cut short, unlike her long blonde hair, tied up as it was now. Her skin was a rosy pink, unlike her rather pale skin. Their eyes were blue, though Cousland had two that worked. They arrived at a tent and looking at them Amell was confused at how few tents there were.

“We’re sharing tents since there is so little space.”

_Oh._

_“_ Oh,” she said. Amell entered after Cousland to find that her trunk had already been placed by a sleeping roll.

_Oh._

She’d be sleeping on the ground. She also noticed an elf lazing around on another roll not very far from hers. Not having tolerance for lazy slaves she rushed herself over.

“You there, what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” the elf narrowed her eyes at her.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something,” Amell spat back.

“[Well excuse me princess](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPxY8lpYAUM) but I don’t see you doing anything either.” Altus Punk Amell looked down at the elf and if she didn’t know better it seemed the elf was looking down on _her._

“Where is your master?” She demanded. The elf grinned.

“He said if I become a Grey Warden I won’t be a slave. So here I am.” She gave mock surprise. “Could it be that you’re going to be one too?” Her mind went blank for a moment.

“Excuse me,” She spluttered out after a moment.

“Grey Wardens recruit the best despite one’s origins...” She could hear Cousland say. The grinning elf went back to lazily staring up at the canvas of the tent. Amell pulled herself together.

“This must be a mistake.” She finally concluded.

“Sure princess.”

“I will make sure this is rectified. Who is your master?”

“His name is Duncan and he’s freeing me once the joining ritual is over. Same as Snap Dragon.” She didn’t even want to think who that may be. But the name Duncan made her pause.

_Surely he merely uses them as distractions for the darkspawn. Easy prey._

That idea calmed her and so she ignored the elf for now, knowing she will likely die soon, and went about talking with Cousland again. If she had to deal with more disrespectful slaves then perhaps clinging to the woman would be best, for now.


	11. Barbarian

The injustices to her people made her blood boil. Had her clan been there she would wage war on these shemlin for how they treated their slaves. The fact that they were slaves was enough alone to disgust her. She had never understood how they would let themselves be property of a shemlin, how they would not fight back. But seeing the twigs and wisps flitting about, easily bruised and roughly man handled, she could see they could not fight. She saw one cut down that day. She shot an arrow through the murderer’s skull. She had been discreet about it and was not caught but had she not been there for her keeper’s sake, her clan’s sake, she would have stood tall in pride. Now she felt only remorse for the lost life of one of the elvhan.

She returned to her tent, too tired of seeing nothing but mistreatment of her people; of being mistreated herself(She would answer as Duncan suggested, “I am not your slave” and most though offended did not pester further). The tent held two shemlin, the things sitting together. They both looked at her and one seemed slightly shocked, reaching for a staff. She retracted her bow and aimed. The woman scowled.

“What is a barbarian doing here?” The thing asked.

“I could ask the same of you.” She heard a laugh, now familiar to her after traveling with Elsie Tabris, but did not look, keeping her eye on target. The thing was enraged.

“How dare you-“

“Easy my lady if we could all settle down.” The other thing gave a pleading look and despite wanting to kill the other one she remembered this was the tent for Grey Wardens. This thing was to fight beside her. She lowered her bow but kept it drawn, pointing it at the dirt floor. The thing smiled at her. “I am Lavender Cousland of Highever. Please call me Cousland, I am not fond of being called a flower.” The thing gave a nervous laugh. “This is-“

“Altus Punk Amell and you will address me as such.” The other thing nodded, as if it had said something that mattered.

“Cousland.” The one nodded. “Amell.” The other one nodded as well though her eyes turned steely. “Mahariel.” She answered the unasked question.

“Ma hair el?” The Cousland asked.

“Mahariel.”

“Mahariel.” It still sounded wrong but was close enough to her name that she didn’t mind it. She nodded, before going to her bed roll next to Tabris. She noticed then that all the bedrolls were taken.

_Only seven women._

She found it odd the lack of female warriors there were but she figured it was another fault of shemlin thinking and behavior.


	12. Kokari Wilds

Lavender Cousland was not an angry person. She had already known about the elven wardens and seen the dwarven ones though she had not been introduced to either group. She had hoped that they would get along. But Amell didn’t seem to want that, and as the grey warden recruits, seven girls and four boys gathered around Duncan, she couldn’t help but hope that her other fellow humans were okay with the mixing of races. She was a bit surprised, and maybe uncomfortable with how foreign looking the dwarves were, but otherwise she didn’t mind much. Duncan stood before them now.

“I want the eleven of you to retrieve a vial each of darkspawn blood in the Kokari Wilds.” Her blood ran cold. The Wilds were a dangerous if not terrifying place. Scouts had already died there in the three days she’d been there.

“You want us to go into the Wilds?” Sir Jory asked. He was from Highever too, a guard in her family’s home. He felt his pain.

“I will be accompanying you but understand I am there to guide not to protect.” She let out a relieved sigh at that. She looked at her ten- no nine. Where was the tenth one? She looked around and saw the elf who had been with Duncan before at the kennels, petting a mabari. She returned her attention and found herself lost in the conversation.

“Any questions?” No one answered and certainly she wasn’t going to single herself out. “Good, then let us go.”

The march through the gates and into the wilds started getting exciting immediately with an attack by a pack of wolves. With her sword dyed red and the animals all dead she could hear the quiet voice of Mahariel.

“Ir abelas.” She placed her bow back on her back and continued walking. After the wolves came the darkspawn.

She had never seen one before and the horror they were is beyond words. Sharp teeth and beady eyes, skin molted and peeling and wrong, smelling of disease and rot. She fought them off, bashing her shield against them so she didn’t have to be too close. When the batch was dead she noticed she was crying. No one commented on it thankfully but still she felt herself to be a fool. They collected blood vials. Only three of them gave enough blood to fill a full vial.

_Eight more to go._

They found the dead scouts in various places, some hung from a fallen tree, some were disemboweled and covering the pathways, and some simply lay in the bushes with red blood seeping out of them. And darkspawn were always close by. And with each batch came more vials filled.

When they weren’t fighting, Mahariel was picking various plants. She thought it might be a barbarian thing, but the other elf, the one petting the dog before was picking different flowers as well. What were they using them for? Medicine she thought. Poison she thought again. It wasn’t until they reached a small hut that everyone gave pause. Even Duncan seemed surprised. An old woman was sitting on a small stool in front of the hut, and she got up upon seeing the group. Duncan was still for a moment before stepping forward.

“Grey Wardens here in my Wilds? My, what a surprise.” She gave a toothy smile. “And what might the reason for it be.”

“We simply got lost ma’m I apologize for disturbing you.” Duncan answered calmly.

“Oh no bother at all. Simply curious. And such a diverse group you have. Surprised they haven’t killed one another yet.”

“Yes well we’ll be on our way-“

“I’ll have my daughter escort you out.”

“That is unnecessary-“

“No no let me. It is the least I can do for your order to be fighting the darkspawn horde.”

“I see well thank you.” She looked at the elf then, the one with the single white and red flower in his hand. “So much about you is uncertain. But I know. Do I? Well, seems I do.” The elf cocked his head to the side. “Girl get out here!” The old woman called. A beat later a woman came out, clothes torn and hair a mess. Her golden eyes screamed annoyance but she complied.

“What is it mother?”

“You’re to lead these Grey Wardens out. They are our guests after all.”

“Oh well then. Follow me.”


	13. Jory Gets Shanked

Surana was happy that he had gotten the right flower for the dog. The kennel master said that he might even get to have the dog imprinted on him. He had said it as a joke because honestly who would give a pure bred war hound to a slave, but still he was happy the dog was ok. He had named it Pudge in his mind. Maybe Jowan instead, if the name wasn’t still bitter on his tongue. He was not looking forward to the joining ritual, because he did not want to die. Duncan said there was a chance, and he knew the odds were he would with either in the fight or in the ritual. But despite the blisters in his feet the pain in his joints and the weary fatigue that had enveloped him since leaving the slaver’s market he felt a kinship with Duncan. He treated him as if Duncan himself was a slave too. Maybe he had been in the past. Maybe he was like Jowan, freed from his bonds. No not like Jowan. Duncan didn’t seem the man to abandon his friends, his family, simply for his own skin.

And there they stood in front of Duncan, the man who told him not to call him master, who hasn’t made move to touch him as either striking or something far worse. He knew in his heart he could follow this man to the end of his days. And he was talking now and he was hearing news that was unpleasant.

“I will not lie, not all initiates survive the joining.”

“Then we shouldn’t run from it.” Aeducan said. The princess of Orzammar did seem rather regal in her dwarven armor, all gold tinted and bronze works.

“I agree.” Said the tall warrior, Ser Jory. He was from Highever, like Cousland. Surana did not know what these places were or their significance, but he always did his best to keep details on origins. To know ones origins was a blessing and if others forgot he would remember for them.

“Then we shall begin the ritual shortly. I will return once the preparations have been completed. For now please go to the courtyard next to the generals’ sector. It will be secluded.” The eleven of them went to the courtyard, a circle made of stone. He noticed Aeducan take off her boots. She sighed heavily when her feet touched the stone floor. Brosca looked as if she would do the same but a moment of hesitation stopped her. He noticed she had new clothes. It was still leather but actual armor and not scraps sewn together. She looked to her feet again.

“Oh sod it.” She took off her boots, flinging them away.

“What are you two doing?” Alistair asked warily.

“Bit of a foot fetish you dwarves have huh?” Daveth asked with a smile.

“If I die, I shall be with the stone,” Aeducan answered.

“And may it catch you when you fall.” Brosca added, though her tone was insincere.

“And may the dirt taste good when I feed it to you!” She spat.

“Easy now no need to fight,” Alistair attempted to sooth. The two dwarves glared at each other but eventually they backed off. The bastard sighed, turning to Tabris.

_Be careful Alistair._

“You know one good thing about the blight is how it brings people together.” Tabris looked him up and down, expression not distasteful.

“You are a strange human.” She finally answered.

“Yeah I’ve heard that one before.” Jory whom had been pacing stopped.

“Are you all mad? Is no one concerned about this joining?” He scoffed, staring at the doors to the generals’ hall. “Why do they have to keep everything a damn secret? Why all these damned tests?”

“Maybe it’s tradition. Maybe there just doing it to annoy you.”

“Creators, is every human so cowardly?” Mahariel chimed in, sitting on the ground looking to the sky.

“Yeah Ser Jory why don’t you stop being a coward.”

“I’m not a coward. I just don’t like this whole joining thing. I’m not willing to sacrifice everything.”

“I’d sacrifice a lot more if it meant ending the blight.”

“You don’t know that Daveth.” Cousland said quietly. Her face was wet with tears. How long had she been crying?

“Do I? You heard him say not everyone survives. And how likely is it none of us are killed by a darkspawn. Maybe you’ll die, maybe we’ll both die. If no one tries to stop this blight we’ll die for sure.”

The doors to the great hall opened and Duncan entered, goblet in hand. His face was stone as he began to speak.

“It is time for the joining ritual to begin.” He stood in the center of the courtyard and the recruits formed a half circle in front of him. “It is the hubris of men which brought the darkspawn into our world. The mages have sought to usurp Heaven. But instead, they destroyed it. They were cast out, twisted and cursed by their own corruption. They returned as monsters, the first of the darkspawn. They became a blight upon the lands, unstoppable and relentless.”

“You dare slander the Magisterium?” Amell asked, anger laced through her tone.

“The gods have turned their backs to us and our god Dumat is now leading this horde of evil across our world.” He continued. He looked at her. “They have stopped listening to our prayers. People are killing priests, burning temples. This very tower’s temple was destroyed. Since the creations of the Grey Wardens, elves, dwarves and humans have come together to fight the darkspawn. Warriors and mages,” he looked to Cousland and Amell,” barbarians and kings,” he looked to Alistair and Mahariel, “have answered the call. And so I shall tell you of the joining. We drink of darkspawn blood.”

“We’re going to drink the blood of those… of those creatures.” Jory looked like he was going to vomit.

“The blood is what gives us the taint, and the ability to sense the darkspawn, and become immune to their disease. Now, we say a few words before the joining but they have been said since the first. Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you” He looked to Daveth. “Daveth step forth.” The man did so. The goblet was placed in his hands. Daveth drank. He returned the cup. He clutched his head, screaming, retching up nothing. He fell to his knees, then his hands, reaching out to Duncan. “I am sorry Daveth.” The man fell. His hand stopped reaching.

“Urthemiel’s breathe.” Jory went pale.

“Jory step forward.” Jory stepped back.

“No, you ask too much.” He stuttered, reaching for his sword. Duncan handed Surana the cup and he took it, watching as Duncan unsheathed a dagger.

“There is no going back.” The two parried briefly before Duncan shanked Jory in the abdomen. The man fell on his shoulder, met eyes with Surana. Life was draining from them. “I am sorry.” Duncan guided the man to the floor. He left his dagger in Jory and returned to the ritual. “But the ritual is not over yet. Snap Dragon step forth.”

“Surana.” Surana said, and he nearly bit his tongue in half to stop himself. He wasn’t supposed to correct his master. He wasn’t supposed to keep his real name. But he spoke and the others stared.

“Surana step forth.” Surana blinked, then nodded. He tried not to look at the corpses, instead watching the flow of red and black in the goblet. He drank.

“From this moment forth you are a Grey Warden.” He could barely hear these words however because of an exploding pain behind his eyes. He clawed at his head, wanting to scream but being unable to. He looked to the sky, saw its stars. Then he saw nothing but darkness.


	14. Prepare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used way too many elven words

Theodosia gripped her head as consciousness came to her. Bile was nestled in her throat and she swallowed it down, spitting in distaste.

“Ah you are finally awake.” Duncan had said. The thing offered a hand. She got to her feet on her own. “How are you feeling?”

“It’s over I’m fine.” She said, looking at her fellow grey wardens. She had watched as each one passed out, uneven breathes and faces twisted in agony, until she alone stood to face the goblet. She found herself happy she would not be the only elvhan in the group. She wished the Amell had died though. Things would have been easier.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Did you have any dreams?” Theodosia nodded. By the creators she had seen something so foul and corrupted that she would need to bathe in elfroot a thousand times to wash the stain away. “I had terrible nightmares.”

“We all did.” She heard Tabris say, the elf picking at her teeth. Blood was still smeared there and the elf was trying her best to wipe it away.

“Now if you’ll excuse me I must join the generals. You must prepare for battle while I’m gone.” Battle. That was something she could do. The thing left and she walked to Tabris, offered her hand. The elf took it.

“Glad to see you alive.” She said.

“Right back at’cha” Tabris replied, though her expression was strained when saying it. Mahariel ignored it.

“Walk with me?”

“Sure.” They walked to the tents, ducking out of the way of shemlin eyes. She heard heavy footsteps behind her and glancing back saw Alistair following them. It gave a shy smile. She bared her teeth in a scowl, a warning. It held its hands up and, satisfied, she walked on.

The tent was quiet as each woman readied themselves. Mahariel counted her arrows, slid her daggers into holsters, and pulled her braids into a tight ponytail.

“Are you going to be alright with that outfit?” She heard the Cousland ask, eyeing her exposed navel.

“This is the traditional armor of my clan.”

“It kind of leaves you…exposed though.” It said. She glared and the Cousland made a choked noise. “But I’m sure it will be fine!” The Cousland went back to strapping her heavy armor on, a silvery thing. How such a fragile woman could lug around that armor Mahariel didn’t know. But her thoughts were clouded by the potential of battle. The taste of blood, no fear of the taint too blind her. Nan for killing her people. Revenge for coming down from the Fade, for tainting such a sacred place.

She looked to the Durgen’len, as she decided to call them, to distract herself.

_Save it for the battle field._

 She found the one with markings was lounging on her sleeping roll. She wondered if it was vallaslin, to honor their evanuris. If so she was surprised to find the so called noble blank faced. She hoped one day they would become Vhenallin but until then she was as wary of the stout people as she was of the shemlin.

She then looked to her fellow elvhen, a mere child in her eyes but her sister none the less. The girl was sliding more and more daggers into her armor, blades of various sizes and styles.

Then she had the misfortune of spotting the shemlin Amell. Its robes were of fine make, all silk and satin and her staff held a glowing blue orb and carved ruins on the shaft. They locked eyes, it sneering. She sneered back. She hoped it would die. She would kill it if not for her vow. And she would protect it, despite the distaste in the mere idea. She knew it would not do the same. But she had honor.

The flap opened suddenly and her brother in arms peeked his head in. The blush on his cheeks matched his hair and was fidgeting with his sleeve, adorned with a loose and rather ragged robe. He had a long branch attached to his back, much like her keeper’s staff only rougher. He motioned for them to exit before disappearing once more.

The stout rogue popped up and grinned.

“Show time.” She announced loudly and her Samhl rang loudly.

The others left without a word, each one preparing in their own way. The stout rogue seemed to pout but followed none the less. Mahariel took the rear.

And as the group found Duncan, she could tell the Alistair was not pleased.

“We’re not going into battle?!” It shouted. The Duncan remained calm, face blank.

“Lighting the beacon is critical.”

“So they need nine grey wardens to light them a torch? We should be on the field.”

“I agree with Alistair.” The Cousland piped in, though she seemed to shake with the words.

“This is not up to debate. You will go to the tower of Ishal and give the signal for general Loghain’s men.”

“Fine, but if these generals want me to put on a dress and dance the remigold I’m gonna pass.”

“I’d like to see that.” The Brosca said.

"For you maybe but it has to be a pretty dress." The Brosca snorted. The Duncan hummed in disapproval. Mahariel felt anger creep up on her at the notion of their task. A simple thing, no fighting. No blood on her blade or arrows.

_Dirthara-ma Shemlens._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirthara-ma: "May you learn." Used as a curse  
> Durgen’len: Children of the stone. The original Elvish term for the dwarves  
> Evanuris: mage leader. What the elvhen called their gods  
> Vhenallin: “friends of the People”  
> Nan: Revenge; vengeance  
> Samahl: laugh, laughter.  
> http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language


	15. Weakness

Malachite had never been known for being a fast runner. She could haul herself in the heaviest of armor but these humans and “elvhan” with their long legs were yard ahead of her now. Same as the brand, how she was so fast the princess did not know. She glanced at the battle field and saw the horde. And the flying rock coming straight towards her. She jumped away, landing flat on her face. She heard the screams of humans behind her, wounded or dying she did not know that either. She wanted to check but the groups were leaving her behind. Except for one. The elf boy, standing amidst archers and trebuchets, eyes wide with fear. But he ran back to her, held out a hand to help her. She took it, and jerked forward as he began to run, hand holding hers tightly. His pace was more of a fast walk but she was running none the less.

When they finally reached the tower of Ishal they were met with the group fighting off darkspawn. The elf let her go, flicking his wrist. A ball of light, crackling sparks flying, before releasing it. Likea crack of a whip the light spread throughout the darkspawn, stunning them long enough for their head to be chopped off. She blinked, jaw slackening, before clamping it shut and focusing on the enemy. She hefted her axe in her hands and roared, charging towards one of the taller ones. It’s only weapon was a battered up stick, pointed her direction and-

_Oh._

The pain was close in degree of agony as was the joining. Her muscles tightened, her vision went blurry and she could not move.

_They can do it too._

The darkspawn shot a ball of fireball at her and she closed her eyes, unable to move despite how hard she tried. She waited for the burn but felt nothing but a cool breeze. She opened an eye and found a bluish glow in front of her. She also saw the flaming grass around her. She felt another sensation too, the loosening of muscles, the dulling of pain. When she could move her neck she found that Amell’s hands were covered in blue, running over her armor.

‘Thank you.” She managed to croak out. She looked back at the darkspawn, seeing it as a corpse filled with arrows. With the atmosphere relatively calm, an eye in the storm, Aeuducan waited for her body to behave properly. She felt embarrassed at being stopped so easily.

“I had heard a rumor magic couldn’t affect dwarves. It must have been a rather powerful mage.”

“Yeah.” Was all she could respond with. “Is that what you are?”

“A mage yes.” Amell removed her hands. “I’d like to think I’m better company though.”

“Barely.” Aeducan looked up to see Mahariel, pulling an arrow out of the ground near her feet, inspecting the arrow.

“No one asked you.” Amell responded, glaring. Aeducan wondered if elves were like brands. Many of their faces were covered in markings, and each seemed to be treated poorly by the humans more often than not. She shook her head. She couldn’t let her mind wonder.

With wobbly legs she walked towards the tower, tripping once or twice only to be caught by Amell or Mahariel.

“Why are there darkspawn? There not supposed to be here!” Alistair complained.

“You could always ask them to leave.” The brand joked.

“Oh very funny.” Aeducan drawled.

“I do my best.” The brand smiled as she opened the door. “After you Mali.” She cooed. Malachite held her head high as she walked in.


	16. The Fall of Ishal

Elsey could see the trap a mile away really. But Lavender was dead set on running into battle. The idiot tripped it. Stupid shem. She ducked down, pulling the closest warden in her reach down with her as the explosions went off. The yells were more of surprise then pain but the icing on the cake was a darkspawn throwing a fireball at them. Then there were screams of pain. Elsey dragged someone up, a quick glance showing it to be Amell. They looked at each other, sneering but the darkspawn were there and they didn’t have time to hate each other. Tabris ran, the pressure of darkspawn on her mind strong. Almost a distraction. She hacked at the closest one, the archers hand decapitated. Then it’s head. She dodged an arrow, and when another came close she saw a blue wall spring up, blocking it from lodging in her shoulder.

_Thank the gods for magic._

She crouched and as the shield went down se lunged for her target, digging both daggers into the creature’s chest.  Another arrow went flying, whizzing above her head. She could see the others now, the warriors yelling as they charged, the archer shooting arrows a mile a minute, Amell shooting lightning. And Surana, popping up shields just in time. The group made quick work of them, but the presence of more pushed against her mind.

The eight of them crept onward, Lavender taking the rear this time, far from any traps. Brosca took the lead now and Tabris felt a bit more at ease with a fellow rogue being in front. Brosca, Alistair, Amell, and Aeducan took the right while she, Mahariel, Surana, and Lavender took the left. She knew the creatures were closer to the right but the others were either oblivious or simply taking the arrow for them.

Going in she ran towards the one about to slice Amell. She stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and after a moment she could only see blood, feel it, taste it. She felt as if she was in that damn house once more, cutting down guard after guard, each shem screaming like pigs. She was cutting these beings like the dogs they were and she began to see faces beyond the horror. She did not feel afraid. She felt angry. How dare these things exist? How dare they attack her?

Her legs took her with the crowd, much less stealthily than she should have been. But if she could sense them then they might sense her so stealth be damned she was going to kill. The others talked but she couldn’t hear beyond a murmur. It wasn’t until they faced a giant that she snapped out of it. She could sense even more coming but the giant beast, grey skin with big ass horns, chowing down on some poor shem-

_Poor shem?_

The beast roared and she shook her head.

“The fuck is that?” She heard Brosca whisper but she was already charging, screaming at the top of her lungs. It smacked her away. She bounced and rolled and fuck did it hurt. But she had been hurt before and knew when to bounce back and attack. The group swarmed upon it and despite its size they were able to kill it after a few hundred slashes and stabs and arrows. Damn it was powerful.

“We have to light the beacon. Loghain is waiting for us.” Tabris nodded and went to open her pack for some flint when she heard the crackling of cedar wood. She looked to find a rather ragged Amell shooting fire into the bundle of wood. She shook the fire off her fingers and sighed.

Darkspawn burst through the door and Tabris flung herself at them. But the hunger was gone and all was left was the sensation of being a trapped little rabbit biting the hand of a monster.  The pain was nearly unbearable. Arrow after arrow, slash after stab. She felt her blood rush out.

And then there was no more.


	17. Gather them allies

Amell awoke slowly, opening her eye and squinting in the candle lit room. She could see a woman, someone familiar yet her mind was too fuzzy to recognize it. She also saw that she was no longer in the tower. No the floors upon floors of Tevinter architecture was replaced with an old wooden building, creaking with each step of the woman, tall and barely covered despite the chill. She shivered and looked down to find herself in nothing but her underclothes. She blushed at her indecency but no blanket was in sight. She used her arms to cover herself but it only did so much. Under her fingers she felt the bumpy ridges of scars, a foreign feeling and if the room was brighter she surely would be horrified at her state. For now, nudity was enough.

“Ah you have finally awoken.” The woman said.

“Um…yes where am I?”

“In the wilds. I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten our brief encounter. Do you remember anything of mother’s rescue?”

“I remember the tower…we were overwhelmed by darkspawn.”

“Yes. The man who was to assist your troops quit the field. The army was massacred. Your friends, they are not taking it well.”

“Neither am I.” She whispered. She felt wetness on her cheek and wiped it away swiftly.

“Understandable. You all were injured quite badly but mother has healed you quite nicely.”

“I should see the others. Thank you Morrigan.”

“I…you are welcome. Though it was mostly mother I am no healer.” She cleared her throat. “I shall stay and make something to eat.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“You wore nothing but strips of bloodied clothe when you came. There is however an old robe of mine you may have.”

“Thank you.” She said, eyeing the woman again. She haoped the robe would not be as revealing.

No such luck. It had feathers much like her old robe, only instead of peacock they were mangy raven and crow feathers, covering her chest barely. The robe was a bit too short and too tight for her liking and the clothes did little to wade off the chill.

But she exited with all the honor an altus like her could muster in such a revealing thing only to deflate at the weary looks of her comrades. The elves and Lavender were huddled around a weak fire made of twigs while the dwarves seemed to dig their boots into the mud. Alistair stood by the old woman from before, look lost and alone.

“See I told you she’d be alright.” He turned to her. His eyes were red.

“You...I thought you’d be dead for sure.”

“I’m alive thanks to Morrigan’s mother.”

“I can’t believe any of this is real. If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother we’d be dead on top of that tower.”

“Do not act as if I’m not present.”

“I’m sorry but what do we call you?”

“The barbarians call me Flemeth I suppose that will do.”

“I heard of you. My father’s personal guard had slayed you in battle.”

“I suppose you speak of Calenhad? The story is not quite as simple as that.”

“What do we do now?”

“We have to stop the blight.”

“All the real grey wardens are dead.” Said an elf,

“Duncan is dead. The grey wardens are dead. For the love of the gods don’t abandon me now.” Alistair seemed on the verge of tears.

“We’ll defeat the blight.” Said the other elf. Brosca snorted.

“Eight grey wardens against a traitorous general, a horde of darkspawn, and perhaps the entire imperium itself.” An elf muttered.

“I don’t understand! Why would Loghain do such a thing?” Alistair stared at Punk, as if she had any answers.

“Now that is an interesting question. Men’s hold darkness much worse than any taint.” Flemeth answered. “But what is important is how you defeat the blight.”

“Duncan…he told us about the corrupted god. He told me before the joining that they called it an archdemon. We need to slay it.”

“Yeah let’s go kill a god.” An elf drawled. Amell really needed to learn these elves names if only to be more convenient in giving orders. Like shutting up.

“Shut up elf.” She tried but the elf ignored her order.

“How are eight people supposed to stop a fucking god when a whole army couldn’t stop a small horde of its minions?”

“We can get allies. We don’t have to fight alone.”

“Who?”

“My people will fight.” Aeducan piped in.

“Sure Mali, and I’ll become a paragon.” Brosca replied. “No dwarf with any honor would risk dying on the surface.”

“They would if it’d stop the darkspawn from eliminating our race.”

“I still doubt it.”

“I know of some tribes who might assist us.” The barbarian said. “Though they are just as likely to kill us.”

“My brother has a militia under his control in Highever. He’d help in a heartbeat.”

“Father might still have men with him. And he can call upon grandfather for reinforcements!” Alistair scanned over the group. “So are we really going to do this? Just build ourselves an army?” Lavender rose. She smiled brightly.

“That’s what grey wardens do your highness.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“So it’s set then.” Flemeth interrupted.

“Thank you Flemeth. For everything.” Amell gave a small bow, something she would never do for a commoner before this whole mess.

“No No, thank you.” She smiled. “Before you go I have one more gift for you.” The creak of the shack’s door signaled the arrival of Morrigan.

“The stew is ready mother. Shall I prepare for some guests, or none.”

“They are leaving girl. And you’ll be joining them.”

“Such a shame-What?!”

“You heard me girl.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea!” Lavender answered.

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth but is that wise? We don’t know how she’ll act outside the wilds.” Alistair said slowly.

“If you didn’t want help from us wild folk maybe I should have left you on top of that tower.”

“Point taken.”

“Mother, I am not ready.”

“You need to be girl. Your magic will be useful and without your help the blight will consume us all.”

“I…understand.”

“And do you understand grey wardens? I give you that which I treasure most in this world.”

“She will not come to harm with us.” Lavender promised. Amell shot her a look but the woman seemed to ignore it.

“Let me gather my things.” Morrigan left, slamming the door behind her.

“It better be useful.” The barbarian muttered.

“Hush barbarian.”

“You hush shemlin.” It replied, but there was no heat to it, only weariness.

Amell stood by the fire until Morrigan returned, loose sack draped around her front.

“I am at your disposal. I suggest a village north of here. It is not far and you will find supplies there. Or I can simply be your silent guide.”

“I think we should just get going.” Amell answered.

“Are you sure we want to take her along just cause her mother told us to?”

“We need all the help we can get.” An elf told him.

“I suppose your right.”

The elves stood and it was the first time Amell noticed the state of they were in. The barbarian still wore her armor but large gnarly slashes covered her abdomen. The girl wore wraps around her feet and her skirt was cut ragged and much too short. The boy wore a robe much like hers, robe dragging in the mud, nipples exposed to the world. Amell shook her head. She shouldn’t care about some filthy knife ears. But the dwarves were little better, Aeducan’s armor bent, a shoulder piece missing. Brosca was wearing something similar to the barbarian now, abdomen missing in the front and side.

Amell cursed herself for being so distracted. Lavender and Alistair’s armor was bent as well. She suddenly felt very lucky to be wearing her robe.

~


	18. Pudge!

Surana knew fully well who Punk was. She was Lily’s sister after all. The whore. And Punk was the abuser, beating and kicking and screaming since she could walk. Of course no one cared since the only victims were slaves. Like him.

And she clearly didn’t recognize him, and he thought he should be happy or angry or something. But it left him empty, the realization that all his suffering never mattered, that he didn’t matter. He was lost in these thoughts when the mabari came, rushing over the hill. It passed the others, making a beeline towards him. He almost tripped over the massive dog, but when he got his footing he recognized it. The one from Ostagar. Pudge!

He scratched his ears but the sensation of darkspawn pressing closer alarmed him, as did the sight of his fellow wardens drawing their weapons. He fumbled with his staff, and could hear a low growl. Whether it was the dog or Rocky he couldn’t tell.

The fight was a quick thing, almost mundane with how few there were. But boy did Pudge tears them to shreds. When all was said and done, the last darkspawn’s throat ripped out by the jaws of a mabari, the dog trotted back to him, wagging his tail, tongue lolling.

_They didn’t hurt you did they?_

He checked for wounds but saw none and sighed with relief.

“I think he’s chosen you. Mabari are like that. They call it imprinting.” The kennel master had said that before but he couldn’t believe it. Mabari belonged to warriors of merit, to kings for gods’ sake. If he knew anything about Ferelden it was how revered these animals were.

“You must be mistaken,” Punk said, “A mabari wouldn’t imprint itself on an elf.” She reached for him to pet lightly but Pudge growled a warning.

“I like him. Can we keep it?” Tabris was grinning and reached to pet him as well. The dog wagged its tail, smiling. Surana looked to Alistair.

“What are you looking at me for?”

“You’re the prince.” Lavender offered.

“Ok. I’m going to say this once. I may be the prince but I’m not the leader here.”

“Someone has to lead. Might as well be you.”

“I’m not a leader! I get people lost, we all run crying, boo hoo. No, why don’t you be leader?” Lavender flushed.

“I’m not a leader either Alistair. You know me.”

“And you know me.”

“You’ve been trained to lead.”

“So have you.”

“Maybe Surana should lead.” The two swiveled their heads to look at Elsey who merely shrugged. “He’s the one with a mabari.”

“I am not following a knife ear.” Amell responded. Elsey’s eyes flashed and Surana knew things would get bloody if it continued. He stepped between them, looking between Tabris and Amell, before doing the one thing he never thought he'd do.

He slapped an Amell.

It was weak but he could see the shock on her face. There was silence in the group now. He didn’t want to stick around for the inevitable so he ran. He ran done the path, mabari close behind him.


	19. Bickering Babies

Lavender watched Surana leave and she wanted to run after him. She wanted to drag him back so he could apologize. But the look on Amell’s face showed that the only apology she would except was his head on a pike so she stayed to calm her down.

“Didn’t think he had it in him.” Tabris was smiling, clearly amused.

“Shut it knife ear!”

“Stop calling me that or I’ll knife your ears.”

“Easy now, we can’t fight like this. We have to stick together.” Lavender tried. She failed.

“Stick together? Did you not see the coward run?” Morrigan added.

“Seeing as Punk would have killed him I don’t blame him.” Alistair glared at Morrigan as he said this.

“Someone should go get him.” Mahariel spoke up. She started walking.

“Is that someone you? We shouldn’t split up any more.” Lavender pleaded. Mahariel looked back to her.

“Cousland,” she said, “I will bring him to Lothering.”

“You know the way?” Morrigan asked. Mahariel nodded.

“We still shouldn’t split up.” Tears were forming in her eyes but she refused to let them escape. Not now.

“Cousland,” she said again, “it will be ok.” Before anyone could respond the girl was rushing into the foliage. And then she was gone.

“Good riddens.” Lavender glared at Punk. She wanted to slap her.

“You stop that right now.” She growled. Punk raised an eyebrow. “We are all grey wardens. We are what is left and you will show them respect.” She paused. “Otherwise how do you expect them to respect you?”

“They’re just elves- “

“They are your siblings in arms. They protected you, fought with you. Does that mean nothing? If anyone should leave it should be you!”

“How dare you – “

“Run home to Tevinter! Run away so you don’t have to sully yourself with elves! Run away because if you continue to act like this you will not be protected. You will die, alone and not missed.” Tears ran freely now, and she hated herself for it. But Punk stood frozen, gaping like a fish.

“I presume tensions are high with elves and humans then?” Lavender could hear Malachite whispering in the background.

“Yeah something like that.” Elsey responded.

“I refuse to leave.” Punk finally found her words, her gaze burning holes through her. But she would not back down.

“Then cooperate or I will run my sword through you. Morrigan please lead on.”

“As you wish.” Lavender did not look at Punk instead joining her cousin’s side.

“I told you you were a leader.”

“No I’m not. I’m just tired.”

“Me too cousin. Me too.”


	20. Caw Caw Motherfuckers

Lothering looked like a nicer version of Dust Town. Mud and straw huts packed with people, beggars in the streets, refugees in the fields. A giant burned down building. Brosca felt at home.

“Ah Lothering, pretty as a painting.” Alistair was smiling now but it was clearly fake.

“Ah so you finally return to us. Running through a sword in grief was too much for you I take it.” Morrigan replied.

“Is my being upset so weird to you? What would you do if your mother died?”

“Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“Right very creepy.”

“What did you want to talk about Alistair?” Lavender chimed in. The woman had been quiet since her outburst with Amell. They all had. Except for Brosca. She cracked every joke she knew with Elsey and the elf to her credit laughed at each one, though some were more forced than others. She tried one or two on Mali but the princess wouldn’t have it. Why they had to be so serious she didn’t care to know. She was better off just crushing heads and killing darkspawn than bickering over something as meaningless as power.

“I wanted to talk about where we would go next. We already discussed possibilities but there is no guarantee any of them will help us.”

“I would suggest going to the barbarians, though it would be easier if Mahariel was here.” Morrigan stated.

“We could go to Orzammar.” Mali said, pausing for a moment. “Where is it?”

“You don’t know where it is?” Alistair asked incredusly.

“She’s not from the surface you fool! Of course she wouldn’t know.” Morrigan added helpfully.

“Right sorry. It’s in the Frostback Mountains east from here. They’re kind of difficult to get to though.”

“Highever is an option, but it’s rather far north. I doubt we want to go back and forth too much.” Lavender added.

“Then there is my father, but that’s up north too.” Alistair shrugged. “Want to flip a coin?”

“If we go north we’re more likely to meet civilized people.” Punk finally spoke. Lavender glared at her but said nothing.

“We should wait for Theodosia and Surana.” Mali said. Rocky snorted.

“You really think they’re coming back?”

“Yes. Theodosia gave her word.”

“A barbarian’s word means nothing.” Amell nearly spat.

“Look let’s just get going. See if we can get some supplies.”

“With what money?” They all paused at that. Except for Brosca of course. She had snatched all their coin purses before the big battle. The others didn’t seem to notice her suddenly huge rack but that was fine with her. She pulled one out now, all rough cotton. It only held bits but it was a start.

“It only has some bits but we can probably find more.”

“You mean steal.” Mali replied, expression one of disgust. Brosca pulled out another bag; Mali’s was imported silk.

“This might ease you up.”

“You stole from us!”

“Glad I did since we would have lost it all on that tower.” Mali shut her trap then. Brosca, against her very nature, returned the bags to each owner. Now, bitless to her name, she smiled innocently. She could steal more here. Mali cleared her throat.

“Alright, Alistair, Lavender you go see what the merchants are up to. Amell, Morrigan, you come with me to see if we can find some work.” Amell made a face but said nothing. “Tabris you go with the brand – “

“Rocky.”

“…Brosca and pick up any gossip.” Brosca grinned. They separated then, each branching around the tiny village.

This was a playground. Refugees didn’t expect to be robbed after everything they’ve gone through. A simple bump or two and-

“Take from shems and they’ll blame the slaves.”

“Elsey- “

“Tabris. I hate that name.”

“Tabris let me work.”

“Steal anything and we’ll have a problem.” The elf paused. “Listen just not here alright.”

“Alright.” She lied. What Tabris didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her too much.

“If anyone gets fresh with me act like I’m your property.” Brosca stumbled over her feet, landing in the mud. She got up and scraped some off herself before shooting Tabris a look. “Listen, up here my kind don’t get to be free.”

“You don’t belong to anyone.”

“I know that. Some shem won’t get that through their thick skull though, think I’m lying. I’d rather you pretend to be my master than one of the shems.”

“Shems are humans?”

“Yeah. It’s elvish I think.”

“Alright sal roka. I’ll play master. I don’t know how though.”

“Just step in when someone tries ordering me around. Act all high and mighty.” They walked on. “What is sal roka?”

“Closest thing is friend I guess. It’s dwarven.”

“Cool.”

The rumors were many and none of them good. Apparently General Loghain had convinced the court that the grey wardens had betrayed them, had purposely lost the battle. They also found out that there was no king on the throne.

Alistair’s father was, as was the queen. His half-brother Cailan, a mere child, was the only living relative in the country. And Loghain for his courage, saving the remaining troops of Ferelden, was to be named regent until someone from the Emperor’s lineage made their way across the sea. But that could take months and the country was swiftly becoming divided; mages outraged that someone outside of the magisterium was ruling over the people, even if it was a filthy backwater, while the common folk rallied behind him, a voice for the people. A fucking hero.

“Amell is going to through a fit.” Tabris muttered as they leaned against a fence.

“When doesn’t she?”

“Alistair will be devastated.”

“Maybe.” Tabris raised an eyebrow and Brosca shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly crying rivers when my mom died.”

“Have you ever lost someone important to you?”

_Rica._

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you hear about that knife ear in the cage? Slaughtered the whole priesthood I hear.”

“Why ain’t he dead then?”

“They leaving him to be eaten by darkspawn.” The humans nearby kept yacking about how elves should stay in their place and Brosca guided Tabris away before blood was shed.

“We should see our caged bird.” Tabris said.

“What’s a bird?”

“Uh…a small thing with feathers. They can fly.”

“What is fly?”

“They jump in the air and stay there.” Brosca dug her toes down in her boots, trying to hold down to the dirt. “Don’t worry, only birds fly. And dragons.”

“What are dragons?”

“Giant lizards with wings.”

“What are wings?”

“The thing that helps them fly.”

“You know you’re not making much sense.”

“At least I’m trying.” A loud whistling began to rang and the two followed it, the tune carrying them to an assortment of cages. When they got there another elf stood, bound by rope and whistling something rather cheerful. The first thing Brosca noticed were the marks on his face.

“What are those marks on your face?”

“They’re tattoos.” Tabris offered.

“Yes and rather pretty ones.” The elf offered, an accent thick on his tongue and a smile wide. “Am I to serve as entertainment to two lovely ladies now? I am afraid I can offer little but my voice but surely that will be enough to charm you.”

“I heard you killed some priests.”

“Ah tis true. Thirty-four of them in fact. And a handful of guards as well. A nice enough job was it not for the whole being captured thing.”

“Yeah I know how that is.” Tabris added.

“Oh? That must be a rather interesting story.”

“Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.”

“Ah but there is little time for me I’m afraid. The darkspawn are coming near and despite all my skills I am stuck.”

“The rope isn’t even tied right.” Brosca pointed out. It was loose in too many places and the elf’s hands seemed to be the only thing keeping it wrapped around him.

“Ah you are very observant. But we do not have to announce that any time soon.”

“Why don’t you just pick the lock then.”

“I…am very skilled at many things. I would count lock picking among them but this one is particularly tricky.” Brosca eyed the lock. It was the most basic lock she had ever seen.

“Right. And if you were to be freed what would you do?”

“Well I finished my job but getting caught might be enough of a disgrace to the crows to leave my life forfeit. And since I’m an elf well, I guess I’d sell myself? Or try not to get killed by barbarian in the woods. Not many choices.”

“And what if someone were to offer you a job?”

“Doing what I may ask?” He leaned closer to them, resting his chin on the bars. “If it is something a bit naughty I must warn you I am strictly an amateur. A talented amateur but an amateur none the less.”

“We kill darkspawn.” The elf’s smile wavered.

“And you want me to?”

“Fight with us.” Brosca smiled. “If you really are skilled enough.”

“I’m afraid I am an amateur at fighting monsters too.”

“Have you heard the rumors about the grey wardens?”

“Which ones? The betrayal on the battle field, the betrayal of the country, the assassination of the king- “

“What?” Tabris looked around nervously, as if the mere mention of such an idea would bring wrath upon her.

“Honestly I only heard that one once but those sorts of stories spread like wild fire.”

“Then you can imagine us requiring some assistance in fighting people too.”

“Hmm, I suppose.” He paused. “Well, if you keep me fed and clothed I’ll be as happy as a temple mouse. Err, perhaps not a temple mouse.” He laughed at his own joke and as he laughed Brosca made quick work of the lock. When the cage door was open the elf dropped the rope and stepped out. “I hereby swear my allegiance to you grey wardens.”

“Thank you, umm…”

“My name is Zevran- Zev to my friends. And with all the honor I have as a crow I will stand by your side.”

“What’s a crow?” Brosca asked.

“A type of bird.” Tabris offered.


	21. Glimpse of a Priestess

“You let him out?!” Their new companion exclaimed, taking shelter from the elf. “He tried to kill me.”

“Ah, you were one of the priestess in training? My contract did not include you so needn’t worry.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“An assassin. A small difference but a difference none the less.” Aeducan did not blame Leliana for her reaction, but in Orzammar assassinations were daily and little to fuss over. She herself had killed a few assassins sent after her, and then sent assassins in return. Hers did the job. The elf was hard to read, acting as if everything was a joke rather than the business of murder. She did not trust him, especially since it was the brand whom introduced him.

“We need all the help we can get.” She had said, smiling up at the elf. He was marked too, and she began to see that here on the surface, elves were casteless.

So why did she not feel repulsed by them?

“We’re really taking a knife eared assassin.” Amell piped in incredulously.

“He has already sworn himself to us.”

“To a brand?” Malachite raised an eyebrow. Surely no one would lower themselves to that. Any dwarf anyway.

“To the grey wardens.” Tabris responded. The brand smiled, teeth yellowed from years of neglect.

“No! I refuse.” Leliana put her foot down, quite literally.

“Listen shem, we don’t need prayers, so we really don’t need you.” Leliana gaped, face flushed.

“I can fight!” She insisted and yes Aeducan had seen that. Seen her take on guards in nothing but a priest robe and sandals. She also knew the human was crazy, spouting proclamations about visions bestowed to her by human gods. Amell and Morrigan had been less amused than she.

“Then fight me.” Leliana blinked. Tabris unsheathed her daggers. “Fight me and if I’m dead you can probably kill Zevran too.”

“I would rather not.” Was all Leliana managed to say.

“Then stop complaining.” Tabris sheathed the daggers once more. Aeducan was beginning to see that perhaps elves were more loyal to each other than other races. She had yet to see one betray their people, unlike the humans. Unlike dwarves she hated to admit.

_Speaking of elves…_

Has anyone seen Mahariel or Surana yet?”

“Not us.” The brand answered. “Maybe Alistair and Lavender have. You get any work?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Hey we got our part done!” Aeducan sighed.

“Yes. If I have to face another giant spider again it will be much too soon.” The brand laughed. “We should find Alistair and Lavender.”

“And leave.” Amell added.

“And wait for our fellow grey wardens.” Tabris insisted.

“Must you bicker like children?” Morrigan spat, glaring between Amell and Tabris. Tabris met her gaze but Amell looked away, blush creeping up her cheeks.

_Strange._

“They might be in the inn. I’ll look.”

_Anything for some peace._


	22. Ir abelas

She found him crying, choked sobs and strange whines emitting from the boy’s throat. Mahariel was reminded of how much of a child he seemed to be. Perhaps he truly was. She had been walking silently but as she drew closer she increased the volume of her steps. He still startled when she was finally in his view however.

“How old are you?” Not the brightest question, nor the most relevant, but it was nagging at her. The boy blinked. “I heard you talk before. Why do you pretend you can’t?” He looked around, grabbed a stick and threw it at her. It swirled in the air before landing at her feet. “How did you become a grey warden if you can’t even throw a stick?” The boy didn’t cry like she thought he might but merely shrugged. “You need to come with me.” He shook his head, red hair sticking to his wet face. His eyes were all defiance now, like a toddler about to throw a tantrum.

And like a toddler she would drag him out kicking and screaming if she had to. She took a step, then another. She was almost in reach when-

It became hard to breathe. Her eyes went wide as she puffed in breaths, seeing the red glow of the mage’s hands. She fell to the ground, rolling in the dirt. Her heart pounded, blood rushing through her ears, as the mage stood from his sitting place. She swung her arm weakly at him, grabbing his robes. Just as soon as his magic came it left, hands shaking. He sat heavily once more, and there was fear in his eyes. Fear of what she would do to him?

Or fear of himself?

“I’m not going to hurt you brother.” She said once she caught her breath. He shook his head. “How old are you?” She asked again. It seemed more important now. He had too much power to be a child. He looked around before finding another stick, drawing strange lines in the dirt. She blinked before she realized what it was. “I can’t read.” He did not bat an eye at that, merely scratched away the scribbles. He shrugged. “Did the shemlin take that from you too?” He nodded. “Will you come with me if I protect you?” He shrugged. “I will kill the shemlin if you want.” He shook his head. “What do you want then?” He shrugged. “You can’t abandon us.” That struck something within him for tears began to well up faster than Mahariel could say Ir abelas. “Come with me.” Her voice was quiet, no longer commanding. And he stood. And he followed. And he wept.

Mahariel could barely stand it. 


	23. Birds of a Feather

Tabris was getting real tired of shems. She and Brosca recruit a perfectly suitable fighter and they want to complain about details like him being an assassin and murder is bad and blah blah blah. If they knew how much she had spilled they would probably wilt.

She sat with him now, for birds of a feather flock together she supposed. Brosca sat with them as well, she being just as much like them as a dwarf could.

“So what do your tattoos mean?” Brosca asked, pointing to the crow’s face. He had explained that yes crows were assassins from Antiva and no he was not going to kill them in their sleep. The last part was more for the idiot shems. Did she trust him? No, not really. She knew nothing about him other than he kills people for a living and that he too had pointy ears. Did she trust him more than the shems? Birds of a feather after all.

“Ah well some have meaning. Meaning I am not permitted to share, my honor as a crow keeps some secrets bound. Many though like these are for aesthetic purposes.”

“What?”

“Makes him look nice.” Tabris explained. Brosca nodded, then looked at her long enough for Tabris to pick up the unasked question. “I inked mine myself. My former master hated tattoos so I stole some ink and needled away. My cousins nearly shat himself when they saw me. The bastard did too.” Tabris smiled. “It was worth it though, seeing him so pissed every time I walked by. What about you?” The dwarf pointed at the ones wrapping around her eye.

“I got these shortly after I joined the carta. A sort of initiation.” She pointed to the imprint on her cheek, an angry red, stark against the black ink surrounding it. “We got castes down in Orzammar. When you don’t have one you get branded.”

“Do…do your people have slaves? Were you…” Tabris was curious. She wondered if a place so foreign could be free for her people. She made a face. She was sounding like Mahariel.

“No, but you get stuck where your born. And if you’re a duster like me, no one would pay two bits for you. At least that’s what they say most days.”

“That sucks buddy.”

“I guess it’s better than being someone’s property.”

“Not anymore.” The crow laughed. When they looked at him he shook his head.

“You know as well as I do everyone sees you as up for grabs unless someone higher on the food chain says so.”

“Or I kill them.”

“Or you kill them. Not a terrible practice if done carefully but still.” They sat quietly, people watching, seeing sad shem refugees shuffle along. Tabris scanned the fields for a mabari, for looking for leaves was a disappointing endeavor. But a mabari was rare enough to turn her head.

And there was one trotting along. In front of a hooded figure, nipples bare to the world. Followed by an elf.

“They’re here.” Tabris said getting up.

“Who?” the crow voiced.

“Our friends.” Brosca answered. Tabris smiled at that. The hooded figure stood in a field of shems and tents, tugging at their sleeve. The elf, Mahariel obviously took the figure’s arm and guided them. Tabris walked as nonchalantly as she could to the two, their arrival having already turned heads. A barbarian elf with a mabari? That would be enough to raise an eyebrow. If not a fist.

“Fancy seeing you here.” She called out when close enough. The two looked at her and yes there was Surana, blinking away tears.

“Where are the others?”

“The mages and Mali are looking for the other shems. We got two new recruits?”

“For the grey wardens?”

“For the fight anyway.”

“Who are they?”

“Leliana, some priestess in training, and an assassin, Zevran. He’s over there.” She pointed towards Brosca and the crow, Brosca giving a wave.

“It’s good to have an assassin with us.”

“You mean another elf?”

“In so many words. Sorry to have left you alone.”

“Brosca kept me company. How are you kid?” Surana shrugged. “Stay with us now alright. Did Mahariel tell you about Lavender going all alpha on Amell? It was great.” Surana shrugged. “Good to have your lively commentary back.”


	24. Ambush!

Lavender hadn’t expected darkspawn to reach Lothering as soon as it did but none the less the feeling of something vile swimming in her blood, in her heart, in her mind grew stronger with each step towards the bridge leading out of the town. And there they were, vile and disgusting and just plain evil.

“Don’t let them touch you Sandal!” She turned her gaze to the voice, spotted two dwarves huddled together in front of a broken down cart. She readied herself for a fight.

It was a simple affair compared to their experience thus far with the creatures. It was hack and slash and hack some more. The gore left over made her feel ill and she retched from the smell of blood and bile.

“You all right?” It was her cousin.

“Yes.” She answered weakly.

“Need to sit down?”

“No.”

“Boy am I glad you two arrived!” Lavender looked to the dwarf, trying to hold in a giggle at the size of his beard. “I’m Bodahn and this is my boy Sandal. Say hello Sandal.”

“Hello.” The ‘boy’ said, baby-faced but the same height as his father.

“We were just heading north on the road. Wouldn’t mind company. If we could possibly tag along?”

“Our situation is…complicated.”

“Complicated?” The Bodahn laughed. “My girl it sounds like your life’s a bit too exciting for me and my boy. Now I’m going to bid you farewell and good fortune. Come on Sandal let’s get this mess cleaned up.” The two turned to the wreck of a cart and Lavender could care less. She smelled foul.

“Seriously now, are you going to be all right?” Alistair laid a hand on her shoulder. It was caked in drying blood. She shrugged it off forcefully.

“I’ll be fine. Just a stomach bug is all.”

“If you say so. Anyway we should meet with the others.” Lavender followed Alistair.

Right into an ambush. A dozen or so people dressed in plain clothes and wielding rusty axes and kitchen knives gathered around the pair. Many seemed shaken. One pissed his pants, but stood in their path regardless.

 

“Now I don’t know what’cha did with the king and gods forgive me I don’t care. But that bounty on your head could feed a lot of hungry bellies!”

“Bounty?” Lavender managed to croak before they were upon her. She wanted them to live, wanted them to go home to their families. But most homes were lost and Alistair just ran a man through. She tried dodging, bashing people away with her shield. Never the less they pursued. Alistair continued to strike them down. She found herself crying again. Finally, when a man tried to grab her from behind she grabbed his hair and bashed her fist into his face until he stopped struggling. His heavy breathing told her possibility of life. She left him with the corpses, staring at the blood on her gauntlet covered hand.

“Did you have to kill them?” Alistair did not answer her. She didn’t want to know

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to the jellybeanninja (http://thejellybeanninja.tumblr.com/) for helping me come up with names for the lovely wardens.


End file.
